


the beast won't go to sleep

by leapylion3



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Kink Meme, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leapylion3/pseuds/leapylion3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thought of almost being caught deliciously thrills her. She can’t even remember when or why they started this routine- all she knows is that she’s glad that they keep it up. Alys and Jon sup in the hall with all the other men, only cool courtesies exchanged between the two of them. She ducks into his chambers afterwards, while he’s still talking to the other Sworn Brothers, strips until she’s naked as her nameday, and waits on his desk for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the beast won't go to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I ended up filling my own prompt oops cos I'm a ~loser~
> 
>  
> 
> _Every night, Alys waits on The Lord Commander's desk, as naked as her nameday, until Jon comes to his chambers to ravish her._

Her dark hair is splayed out across the desk, spilling over the edge, the colors rippling in the dim candlelight. The fire kindling and her soft breathing are the only sounds in the empty room. Every time she hears steps outside the door, her heart stops, but she knows they will not enter. No, only Jon knows to enter; they _are_ his chambers, after all. No one would dare sneak into the Lord Commander’s room.          

The thought of almost being caught deliciously thrills her. She can’t even remember when or why they started this routine- all she knows is that she’s glad that they keep it up. Alys and Jon sup in the hall with all the other men, only cool courtesies exchanged between the two of them. She ducks into his chambers afterwards, while he’s still talking to the other Sworn Brothers, strips until she’s naked as her nameday, and waits on his desk for him. 

Jon is a tease. She found this out soon enough. He’ll take extra long downstairs, knowing she’s up here, _waiting_. Her face flushes when she remembers what he did at supper; he stared right at her, his teeth working his lower lip, his tongue swiping over the pink flesh. It was at that time she retired to his chambers, trying to ignore the triumphant smirk on his face. 

She clenches her thighs together in hopes of relieving the ache in her cunt, her eyes squeezed shut. Her hand keeps travelling lower, skimming over her stomach and hips, but she always stops herself. Jon likes her like this: panting, writhing, wanton, _desperate_.

Alys already touched herself tonight, although she has the grace to be embarrassed about it. She’d slipped on one of Jon's sleeping tunics, the thin material reaching her knees. She dipped her hand between her legs, biting her lip bloody to muffle the sounds. The smell of him surrounded her, intoxicated her. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine Jon next to her, whispering filthy promises in her ear, his fingers replacing hers in her cunt. 

She left the shirt next to the desk, a silent reminder to Jon. She still can’t remember why, but she’d once told him that she touched herself while wearing his shirt. He’d asked if she could show him, and she shivers at the memory, his husky voice echoing in her ears.

Her breath hitches when she hears the lock turning, the soft _click_ of the door opening. Jon’s familiar footfalls resonate in the room, his steps in time with the beating of her heart. He doesn’t say a word to her, nor does he approach her. She wants to shout at him, scream and _beg_ him to fuck her. But waiting is part of their little game; it’s what she’s good at. 

Her eyes drink him in as he undresses, the clothes landing on the ground with a dull _thud_. He is beautiful, this man, and he is hers. Hers and hers alone; he belongs to her, not to that pretty wildling princess, nor to the Red Priestess, but to the plain girl from Karhold.

He leaves on his smallclothes, and she can tell that he’s already hard. She can feel his dark eyes sweep over her body, can hear him approaching. “My lady,” he mutters, leaning over to kiss her. His tongue slides into her mouth, his hands ghosting over her thighs. Shudders run up and down her spine as he spreads her legs, her pulse quickening with anticipation. 

His lips travel down her neck, nibbling at the collarbone. He suckles a nipple, his thumb teasing the other stiff peak. He hasn't touched her cunt yet, but he brushes by it (accidentally or on purpose, she does not know), and she can feel her wetness starting to leak onto her thighs. Alys’ mouth hangs open in a low moan, her fingers threading through Jon’s wild hair. 

He slides a finger into her, his pace agonizingly slow. He noses the thatch of curls between her legs, pressing soft kisses to her mound, his beard lightly scraping and teasing the sensitive skin. He licks the wetness off her thighs, and she’s certain she’ll go mad, with the way she can feel his breath right _there_. 

Alys almost cries out in relief when he buries his face in her cunt, her head falling back onto the desk. Her heel digs into his back, no doubt leaving a bruise, but she knows Jon won’t mind; on the contrary, he always seems to enjoy it when she leaves marks on him. She knows she loves to see the burns left behind from his beard, or the red marks from his love-bites. 

He pulls out his finger and his tongue replaces it, pushing up as far into her as he can go. She clamps his face to her cunt with one hand and covers her mouth with the other, to keep from waking all of Castle Black. She bites into her knuckles when Jon wraps his lips around the bud, his tongue flicking the bundle of nerves. 

She can feel his teeth as he sucks at her, his nails raking into the skin of her legs, which only heightens her pleasure. She remembers that he is a _wolf_ \- wild, untamed; he never hurts her, but he can be rough, and _gods,_ she wouldn’t have it any other way.

She cants her hips up when he moves to kiss the skin of her belly. Her cunt aches for him, begging for release. She can feel him smirking against her, and she wants to slap it off of his face. “Put your mouth to better use, Lord Snow,” she pants, and she’s surprised she can even form coherent words. 

She moans into his mouth when he crushes his lips to hers; the kiss is sloppy, all tongues and teeth, and Alys can taste herself on him. It only makes her crave him more, intensifies the sickly sweet feeling in the pit of her stomach. Jon has one foot on the floor, keeping him standing upright, while the other leg is on the desk, a knee between her thighs, pressing up against her wetness. He pulls the noises from her throat, and swallows them just as easily, his hands bracing her hips as she tries to grind and writhe against him. 

He pulls her into a sitting position, and she sits at the edge of the desk, the wood digging into her bottom. She spreads her legs shamelessly wide and reaches for his smallclothes, a fire burning under her skin, fueled by her unyielding desire for him. She opens her mouth to protest when he shakes his head, but cuts herself off when Jon’s lips slide over her jaw line, his tongue swirling around her earlobe. 

“Turn around,” he whispers, nipping at the shell of her ear. She tilts her head back, her jaw slack as his voice vibrates through her, her body wracking with tremors. The command was directed to her, yet it is still his hands that turn her around, his breath hot against her neck. 

He slides into her with ease, groaning in her ear. Alys braces her hands on the table, her nails scratching and chipping the polished wood. He is a wolf, and he will sometimes fuck like one. She should be ashamed when Jon takes her from behind, but any touch from Jon is a welcome one, one that sets her skin ablaze and makes her heart palpitate quickly in her chest. 

One of his large hands snakes around and covers a breast, kneading. The other travels down to her cunt, circling around the nub. Alys throws her head back, resting against his shoulder, as he continues his ministrations. “Did you touch yourself before?” he murmurs, his lips brushing her skin with every word. 

She swallows thickly, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Y-yes.” He growls, low in the back of his throat, and sinks his teeth into her shoulder. She comes with a sudden shout, her orgasm taking her by surprise. Jon continues teasing the nub, pressing soft kisses to her shoulders, soothing the bite marks with his tongue. 

His breathing is harsh when he comes, his fingers digging bruises into her hips. They stay that way for awhile, covered in sweat, his seed sticking to her thighs. Jon disengages from the embrace, and she finds herself missing the weight of his chest against her back. He bends down to pick up the discarded sleeping tunic, and Alys admires his taut muscles moving under his skin, which is pale in the dim candlelight. 

He holds the shirt out to her, a twinkle in his dark, lust-blown eyes. “My lady, would you mind…” He licks his lips, his gaze raking up and down her body. “Would you mind showing me again?”


End file.
